


Terms of Endearment

by tuesday



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Endearments, M/M, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: In which there are accidental pet names, Eddie leaning into being in love with an alien symbiote, and an ill-advised kidnapping.—The first time Eddie called Venom dear, it was automatic.They were shopping, and Eddie bypassed the freezer section to pick up some chocolate first.  Venom said, "Don't forget the tater tots."Eddie, well-trained by more than one serious relationship in his life, said, "Yes, dear."





	Terms of Endearment

**Author's Note:**

> I think the last Venom comic I read was over a decade ago. (In fact, I think it was actually a Spider-Man comic?) Then I got into this fandom, saw that the comic snippets people were posting on tumblr looked _really fun_ , and long story short, I'm not caught up, but there's definitely inspiration and influence from Venom 2016 and earlier in this. (Not sure how/when Eddie Brock started calling the Venom symbiote by pet names at the drop of a hat in the comics, but I am living for it.) Still very much movie canon, though.
> 
> Many liberties have been taken both with medical facts and hospital policies in this fic. This is apparently a world where someone having a seizure can still have clear MRI imaging taken and in less than thirty seconds, so I think we're all entitled to do what we want.

The first time Eddie called Venom dear, it was automatic.

They were shopping, and Eddie bypassed the freezer section to pick up some chocolate first. Venom said, "Don't forget the tater tots."

Eddie, well-trained by more than one serious relationship in his life, said, "Yes, dear."

Venom fell silent. Eddie didn't even realize what he'd called Venom until they were halfway home. He thought about apologizing, about explaining, but then they stumbled across a mugging and Venom was still hungry. It was why they'd gone grocery shopping in the first place.

By the time the mugger had learned the error of his ways and his would-be victim had fled with an unexpected extra dose of trauma and a harrowing story to tell their therapist, Eddie had forgotten the grocery store entirely except to exclaim mournfully over the ripped bag and having to carry the groceries home by hand.

" _I_ will carry them," Venom said—a little judgmental, like he couldn't trust Eddie not to throw their food straight at a bad guy's face, but mostly helpful, solicitous—and formed a new bag, black and thick, the handles already looped around Eddie's wrist. Tendrils extended from the bag's bottom to collect the items scattered across the alley that Eddie hadn't already collected.

"That's pretty handy," Eddie said. "I could definitely get used to having you around."

Venom's voice was cheerful, practically preening, as he said, "You should."

Eddie quirked a smile. That was right. It wasn't like Venom was going anywhere.

—

The first time Eddie called Venom sweetheart, it was a sarcastic reference, nothing more.

"Eddie. Eddie. We need it, Eddie," Venom said, and if they weren't in a busy mall corridor, Eddie was sure Venom would form tendrils into arms so he could make the hand gestures necessary to illustrate exactly how much Venom wanted the thing.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Eddie marched heartlessly past the storefront display, "but I just don't have the time."

Eddie expected further protests or at least a grumpy little "hmph!" but Venom was quiet. Eddie made a note to quote Star Wars more often if it made winning an argument this easy. He'd thought he would have to explain all over again that the Humane Society had those dogs there for open adoption day, not as free samples like the food court's Korean barbecue place.

—

The first time Eddie called Venom darling, it just slipped out.

They'd developed a system by which Eddie could talk to Venom aloud without looking like he was experiencing auditory hallucinations and had decided to snark back. He looked like a douchebag, but that was what happened when you got into an argument in public over your bluetooth set. That the other speaker was in Eddie's head instead of on the other side of the phone didn't change that.

Eddie said something terrible, even by his standards, and it didn't matter that he was on the receiving end of judgmental stares from approximately half the street, because Venom went suddenly, icily silent in an entirely different way than normal. Eddie mentally rewound to figure out what in what seemed like pretty bog-standard shit talk had so offended him and hit upon, " _So glad_ there's only one of you. It's a good thing you're alone; I don't know what I'd do if there were more than one of you." Not only had Eddie crossed the asshole line, but that was probably still a sore point. "Shit. I didn't mean that."

Which, yes, Eddie was glad that Venom was alone in that, from what Venom said and Eddie had seen, any other symbiote would be rampaging down the street and biting off people's heads as it pleased them rather than limiting themselves to the occasional comment on how delicious someone looked. It wasn't Venom's fault he didn't realize how incredibly inappropriate it was to mention how babies were "conveniently snack-sized." They were two cultures utterly alien to one another, and this was just another learning experience. But that didn't make it right to say it, to rub in that Venom was never going to see another of his own kind again.

Finally, Venom said, "I'm not alone." He gave Eddie a few seconds to think he was forgiven, then continued, "But sometimes you make me wish I could be."

Eddie found this unexpectedly cutting. Worse, Venom had gone quiet again, was being unyielding in his silent treatment.

"Look," Eddie said. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean it."

"Hmph."

Eddie's mouth getting away from him was how he got into this situation, but he found it happening again, trying to explain, trying to make it up to Venom, trying to talk his way into forgiveness on automatic as he mentally berated himself. It was hard to seriously hurt Venom's feelings, but Eddie had the sense he'd rubbed salt on a wound poorly healed and recently reopened. He hadn't meant to, he hadn't meant it, and he wouldn't do it again. It was a shitty thing to say. He apologized one last time: "I'm sorry, darling."

"Don't do that," Venom said.

"Do what?" Eddie asked, confused and relieved that Venom was talking to him again.

"Don't use that as a weapon." Venom's voice was firm, with a furious undercurrent. "That's not what it's for."

"What?" Then, "Darling?"

Softer now, "Don't."

And that was the last word Venom had to say on the subject or anything else, for that matter. No matter how Eddie cajoled or entreated him, Venom stayed silent the whole walk home, only speaking up when it was time for dinner and Eddie was trying to figure out what to eat—but Eddie didn't call Venom darling again.

—

The first time Eddie called Venom honey, it was a simple, "Honey, I'm home," as he walked into an otherwise empty apartment.

"Welcome home, dear," Venom's answering words came like a low growl directly into Eddie's left ear. Tendrils pushed up from his arms only to loop around his ribs and back in a quick hug. Eddie tripped over the door mat, but Venom caught them and set them back on their feet. The tendrils gave one last squeeze and faded back in.

"Um." _Um_. Weakly, Eddie said, "Glad to be back."

Shit. Fuck. _Shit_. Eddie hadn't realized, had missed this growing, creeping set of complicated emotions inside him until it was too late. It had set down deep roots, and Eddie knew, just knew, that it wouldn't be moved except to grow larger and deeper still.

He was in so much trouble.

—

Like most problems in his life, it didn't take long for Eddie to decide to lean in.

Venom could read memories, could only speak to him because he'd learned English from an earlier host's mind. In retrospect, Eddie's feelings were a long time coming and the seeds had been planted almost from the very first, so if Venom knew, well, he knew, and if he minded, he'd probably have said something a long time ago. It wasn't like Venom had any trouble expressing displeasure or doing something to fix the problem. Eddie had decided to sleep in one weekend, and Venom had not only crushed the alarm into a million plastic pieces after Eddie hit snooze the third time, he'd also consumed the contents of half the pantry and most of the refrigerator. Eddie'd woken up with his head in the freezer as Venom debated with himself over whether to go to the convenience store for more food. Mr. Belvedere gnawing on Eddie's toes was almost preferable to the state the apartment had been in. Eddie was still finding crumbs in the cracks between floorboards.

Point being—if Venom had a problem with Eddie's messy human emotions, Eddie would already know. Whether he was humoring Eddie or just didn't care made little difference except insofar as how embarrassed Eddie should be. As Eddie's ability to feel self-conscious died around the same time he found himself climbing into a lobster tank, even that wasn't really a concern.

—

The first time Eddie called Venom babe, he'd been putting off doing the dishes and needed a glass from the back of the very top shelf. Almost absentmindedly, Eddie asked, "Could you get that, babe?"

A long, black tendril plucked the glass from the cabinet as Eddie checked the frozen dinner he'd put in the toaster oven. It probably wasn't supposed to go in there—the cook time he was using was listed for a conventional oven—but Venom hated the beeping of the microwave, and Eddie had yet to move into a new apartment in a safer neighborhood with, presumably, a full set of major appliances that worked. It was—more convenient, this way. Besides, Eddie had gotten rather attached to the place.

"Time to eat?" Venom asked.

The plastic of the container was starting to look a bit warped, maybe a bit melty. If Eddie were alone, fully human with no alien extras, he'd probably chuck the whole thing in the garbage. "Yeah," Eddie agreed. "Time to eat."

—

The first time Eddie called Venom love, he thought it was also going to be the last.

The problem with being a vigilante in a world of villains and superheroes was that, eventually, you ended up in a fight where you were not only outmatched, but the other party's strengths were pretty much designed to hit every last one of your weaknesses. The flash grenades were bad enough, as were the gouts of flame trailing after Venom's every leap and roll, cutting off and burning away every swiping tendril trying to push the small crew of attackers away. They couldn't get distance, couldn't get a moment to catch their breath and regroup. The woman had a seemingly never-ending supply of grenades in her small backpack. The fire poured unremitting from one man's hands. The other had a small gun he was trying to train on Venom, and Eddie had a sinking suspicion it wasn't loaded with any sort of average, mundane ammunition.

They'd done a quick kickflip off the brick side of the building behind them, "We should run," warring with, "We can take them, Eddie." They were mid-air, and the last tendril they'd been using to re-maneuver had been severed, withered away into nothing under the force of the flames. They were locked into their current trajectory, and the man with the gun looked suddenly, incredibly smug as he switched the barrel not to where they were, but to where they were going to be.

"Gotcha," the man said, and anything else he spoke was lost over the droning wail of the sonic emitter and the sudden roar of Venom crying out in pain.

They landed hard, Eddie's arms shredding on the asphalt as he hit, bounced, skidded across the alley floor. He couldn't hear the sound of the emitter anymore, but he could feel the vibration of it, the sudden gush of blood from his nose, the warm drip of it from his eyes and ears. The man with the gun kept it trained on them, his lips curled in a smirk and his eyes gone gleeful as he kept his finger pressed on the trigger. The woman's face was blank, but the guy with flamethrower hands put one on the hand holding the gun, pushed it slowly, but firmly down.

The three were speaking, having some sort of argument, but Eddie couldn't hear a word of it, couldn't concentrate on their annoyed faces and agitated gestures when Venom was reduced to a soft, whimpering sound in the back of his head. Maybe the villains were having a falling out or maybe they were having a minor disagreement over how best to dispose of the body, but Eddie couldn't give an opinion, could barely move to twitch his fingers.

Lips still, words a subaudible slur formed mostly in the sanctity of his mind, Eddie said, "Venom? Are you okay?" He wasn't. It was obvious he wasn't. "Come on, buddy, talk to me."

"Hurts, Eddie," and even that was a soft, weak thing.

"I know, love," because Eddie did, could feel the ache deep down into his bones. All he could taste was blood. "But we've gotta get back up."

What Venom said back was less words, more impressions: an impossible task and the willingness to try, the complete inability to do something and the burning desire to overcome, failure paired with the imperative to protect. Over top it, mixed in—behind it and buoying it up—was something Eddie recognized, was something more than stubbornness and fondness and an unwillingness to die.

Black slid around Eddie's fingers, and he'd managed to push himself halfway up when a booted foot collided with his head.

—

When Eddie woke, he was alone.

He couldn't hear, could barely see. Tears mixed with the blood still dripping down his face. He couldn't move. He didn't want to. The only sound was the ringing in his ears and his own internal screaming. No one answered.

After nearly a year of cohabitation, months of accidental pet names alongside learning to live in the same body, weeks of leaning in and giving himself over to feeling something more—

After everything they'd been through together, starting with an alien invasion and ending with what they'd thought was stopping a simple mugging down an alley on their way home—

After finally finding out that it wasn't just Eddie, that _he wasn't alone_ —

It couldn't end like this. It couldn't. Eddie wouldn't let it.

Hands bare, palms raw and open, Eddie tried once more to push himself up. He only managed to pass out again.

—

What followed remained blurred, but a rough sequence of events could be strung together later, safe in the hospital and hovered over by Dan whenever he passed on his rounds. It was hard to write with bandaged hands, so people had to endure his unintelligible mumbling and half-shouted questions. The whiteboard and marker were for everyone else. Eddie still couldn't hear much past the ringing.

The very first thing Eddie remembered saying was Venom's name. Considering it was the first thing he'd said when he'd been pulled out of the Bay, he didn't quite give away the secret of Venom's previous miraculous survival, but he did convince the hospital staff he was very, very confused. Considering the already well-documented head trauma, it didn't warrant anything more than a concerned look from the attending nurse and another notation to his chart.

"You were attacked. Someone found you behind a dumpster and called an ambulance." That was written by Anne, who'd needed to go soon after, but had patted him gently on the shoulder before she went. She'd been visiting Dan when Eddie'd been brought in.

"How are you feeling?" That was written by Dan, along with a slew of medical questions and attempts to explain Eddie's diagnoses, the long path to recovery he was facing ahead. Eddie hadn't really read it, was finding it hard to string two thoughts together, much less engage in any sort of dialogue.

"Like shit. Please. Just show me my chart," Eddie said, though he knew it wasn't like he would understand much of it.

"You know, lately, Annie thought you still might have that parasite. But if you did, I think your most recent MRI would have gone very differently." Next to the whiteboard, Dan left his tablet, tabbed open to the results. Eddie didn't really understand what he was looking at there, either, but that wasn't the point. On the whiteboard, Dan had continued,"I'm going to grab some coffee. I'll be back in five."

(He'd left a box of tissue, too, had given Eddie's shoulder a squeeze before giving him the privacy to use them. Dan really was a good guy.)

"What can you tell us about the people or person who attacked you?" That was a bit later, but just as awkward. The police officer in charge of interviewing him looked sympathetic, had a trustworthy sort of face and a kind, understanding expression Eddie was pretty sure she'd practiced in the mirror.

"Nothing," Eddie said.

"We can protect you." The officer underlined protect twice.

"I hit my head, or I guess someone did for me—a bunch of times. I took a shortcut home, and it ended badly. 'S all I know."

The officer tried a few more times, but a nurse soon showed her out.

This is what Eddie could tell:

Whoever they were, they'd been waiting for Eddie and Venom and knew who and what they were. The three had switched swiftly with smooth, practiced movements from tussling over the backpack to a coordinated attack. The woman with the grenades and the man with the flame powers had distracted Eddie and Venom—had obviously been intended to keep them from paying too much attention to the man with the gun—and had herded them into position like a fox run down by two beagles.

They'd known Venom's weaknesses and they'd been prepared. They'd taken Venom and Eddie down, but they hadn't killed them. They hadn't tried to save Eddie, though, had left his body behind a dumpster to die.

When Eddie woke, he'd been alone, but—it felt like Venom was gone. Gone, not dead.

And if Eddie was in denial, if Venom really had died in that alley without leaving a trace of himself behind for even the MRI to find—Well. He'd jump off that bridge when he got to it.

—

It didn't come to that.

Eddie was discharged from the hospital. Rather, he checked himself out under advisement it was the wrong move. Even with the new job and renewed financial solvency, it wasn't like he could afford to throw money away on his health—and it wasn't like he could afford the time, the trail growing colder with every second he was stuck in that damn hospital bed. At least at home, he wouldn't have anyone around to interrupt his work or remind him of how alone he was.

He spent the next few days chasing down leads, doing research on his phone's browser and calling source after potential source. He was in the middle of cajoling someone into just _taking a small peek_ , it wasn't like there were that many places that developed sonic weaponry, and he'd only heard rumors of two new patents going through—and if it had been the U.S. military, surely Eddie would have been far more screwed than persistent partial deafness and a little brush with death—when there was a knock at the door.

The asshole was loud, too, thundering THOOM THOOM THOOMs that shook the door in its frame and rattled the glass of his windows. They weren't going away.

"Call you back," Eddie said and hung up. He checked the peephole, strangely calm considering the last time he'd had unexpected visitors, it had been a disaster that had seen the building evacuated and Eddie nearly dead at least two dozen times. It wasn't like he had a symbiote to save him this time.

Standing on the other side was someone—familiar. His hair was blonde, his hands gloved. He was bundled up despite the unseasonably warm weather and wearing an asshole hipster scarf. His gaze met Eddie's through the peephole. It was clear that he knew Eddie was there and that if Eddie didn't open up, he was going to break the door down.

"Eddie. Let me in." His voice was much deeper than it had been when he’d been demanding for Eddie hold still and take his charbroiling like a man. Face blank, thoughts racing, feeling so much at once that it was almost like his heart had gone numb, Eddie opened the door. The man strode forward, catching Eddie up in his embrace. Voice muffled in Eddie's shoulder, but growing clearer with every word, Venom said, "Honey, I'm home."

Unashamedly crying a little, Eddie said, "Welcome home."

—

The first time Venom called Eddie darling and dearest, plus a longer-standing pet name besides, it was less than two minutes and a quick revenge killing later. They were bundled safely inside, wrapped up in one another, and finally, finally home. (Because for Eddie, home was not a place, but people, and Venom had become that person now.)

"Do we need to worry about that?" Eddie asked, gesturing at the headless corpse just inside his doorway between clutching back at the tendrils sliding from his skin to wrap around his arms, his shoulders, his torso. Slippery black tendrils like fingers brushed at his temple and soothed the scrapes and bruises shrinking and healing into healthy, whole skin. They cradled his face and thumbed at his split lip, leaned into it when Eddie licked his lower lip as the scab peeled away. "Or, uh, anyone coming to look for him—for us?"

Venom manifested a face, a comfortingly terrifying process that involved forming two eyes and teeth before the rest followed. "Took care of it." He nuzzled at the junction of Eddie's neck and shoulder. "They tried to separate us, to take you from me." Voice dark with a bloodthirst barely sated, Venom said, "They won't try again."

"Because you killed them?" Eddie asked, voice going a little higher as teeth nipped at his throat.

"Because I killed and _ate_ them."

Eyes up, ignoring the dead body in his apartment in favor of the living symbiote wrapped around and pushed deep inside him, Eddie said, "That's reasonable."

He could hear Venom's smile in his voice, feel his pleasure down to his toes. "I thought so."

"Is this—" Eddie pressed their foreheads together, pulled Venom's head a little closer, "—is this okay?"

"Darling," Venom's voice rumbled pleasantly in Eddie's ears, thrummed in joyful counterpart to Eddie's quickening pulse. "Dearest. _Mine_. _We_ have been waiting for _you_."

—

The second time Eddie called Venom love was in much happier and far more intimate circumstances.

—

The fifth time Eddie called Venom love, it was with edged with irritation. As overjoyed as he was to be reunited—

"No, love, you can't keep it. We are not starting a pile of bodies on the floor."

" _You_ get to make decorating decisions."

"Yes, because I don't leave things to rot for the neighbors to smell and the police to find!"

Grumbling, Venom said, "I was going to eat it anyway."

"Then eat it now."

"Yes, dear." Venom formed a thick tendril, grabbed the corpse, and shoved it, whole, into their mouth. He chewed gruesomely, swallowed pointedly, and suppressed Eddie's gag reflex almost automatically, as even after months together, Eddie wasn't quite used to the sensation of eating another human being, even if he was cloaked in—and had become—a monster at the time.

The sixth time was grateful, conciliatory: "Thanks, love."

"You're welcome."

Eddie knew it wouldn't be the last, that there were many more endearments yet to come. He was looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Psst, [I'm on tumblr](http://everysecondtuesday.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Sneak peek of the Quality Content (TM) that will eventually be posted there, including excerpts from my ideas file:
> 
> Though I don't do sequels, sequel to the above, because Venom totally had kids on his field trip/impromptu kidnapping and kept quiet about it because he was a) embarrassed at spawning all these murder babies, b) not really responsible for them considering the whole kidnapping and extraction thing, and c) still REALLY SALTY about Eddie's comment about not wanting more of him running around. WHO'S ALONE NOW, EDDIE??? Certainly not the several people running around with their own symbiote suits, biting off people's heads. (In all fairness to Eddie, this is exactly the sort of thing he was concerned about.)


End file.
